


Gentle Mother

by clairedearing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Drabble Fic, F/M, fusion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 08:11:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairedearing/pseuds/clairedearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, well, well," Tyrion says as he steps through the crowd. "It seems the Avatar has finally returned."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle Mother

  
It is too hot here. The sweat cakes on her skin and no amount of talcum powder can hinder the droplets of water that swim past her temples. Even in a light dress that is in Fire Nation style, all reds and flowing fabric, it is simply too hot. 

 

He walks next to her, in full dark armor, and he watches as she lifts a hand, wipes at the sweat on her brow, and he wonders if she really is that tired; that she would forget her manners instead of standing as still as ice.

 

"Just waterbend it away," he grunts, the frustration getting to him as she rubs her forehead again, and she starts prettily, red hair coming loose from her Fire Nation bun, blue eyes wide that he has caught her. She stares at him, half-suspicious that he's tricking her into breaking the rules. (The Fire Lady Regent stressed--no, commanded--even though Sansa's waterbending skills are weak, at most. Arya, on the other hand, Arya loves her waterbending and was good at it to, but was shunned in the Northern Water Tribe. Sansa would be a healer, if she decided to even hone her abilities, which she had not.)

 

Sansa does, however, lift a hand to her head and bend the sweat away, knowing that for all his loyalty to the Fire Nation (and Joffery), the Hound will not tell. The water shakes and she feels even more sweat at the exertion. She does it though, pulls all the moistness from her body, and the Hound watches as the water turns from shaking to steady and suddenly the water is making shapes in the air as Sansa smiles prettily. 

 

"I'm doing it," she says, hushed, and he can't tell if she's finally learning and keeping her discretion, or she fears if she speaks any louder, the water will break from her grasp. "Are you-"

 

"I see, little bird," and he doesn't sound proud, but wary, and when Sansa looks, he is staring at her with a queer kind of look. "How often do you practice?"

 

"I don't," Sansa says instantly. When he gives her a warning look, Sansa presses on. "I don't! I haven't had anything to practice with!"

 

The Hound is quiet. (He's never seen anyone pick up waterbending that fast.) Sansa falters at his look and let's the water fall to the ground. He offers her his arm, and tugs her along. 

 

"Come, little bird," he says shortly to her, and she can feel his hand tighten around hers. "We don't want to keep the little lord waiting."

 

"Maester Ludwin taught Arya and me a trick as a child, when our snow castles melted too quickly," she says, quietly. "Would you like to see it?"

 

He doesn't stop walking, but nods and tries to ignore her smile. Her other hand comes up to touch his paladrin, and suddenly, before he can comprehend what has happened, it's twenty degrees cooler under his armor. He starts, and looks at her as she retreats her hand hastily. 

 

"Forgive me," Sansa says quickly, her red hair tumbling out of her Fire Nation bun. It curls around her shoulders in the heat, and she doesn't look perfect, the Hound sees. She looks disheveled and there is no princess in her or singing bird but a wolf. "I did not mean to-"

 

"It's fine," the Hound cuts her off and she sighs in relief when she notices the lack of heat in his face. "So, the little bird does have some tricks."

 

"Just a few," she says, and he tries to ignore how sad she sounds. 

 

\---

 

Sansa kneels in front of the Fire Lord, and the sun beats down on her, baking her slowly, and offering no escape. On one side sits the Fire Lady Regent, golden hair coiled into an elaborate bun, and the other stands the Hound, white cloak wrapped around him, different from the reds and golds. (They say it's to symbolize that he's the leader of the Guard; Sansa knows better--it's to outcast him as a non-bender.)

 

"You're here to answer for your brother's crimes," Fire Lord Joffery says, twisting the flame in between his fingers. Sansa stares at it, ignores how she can feel the heat, and it is too hot here, too hot. 

 

"Please, my lord," Sansa says and tries to keep the tremor from her voice. She is Princess of the Northern Water Tribe. She is ice. She can do this. "Whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part-"

 

"Silence!" Joffery rings out and the flames behind him steep upwards. Sansa's suddenly aware that she's the only speck of blue in a sea of reds and golds. The wolf in a cage of lions. The lone snowflake in a hellish nightmare. (There is the Hound, though, the only speck of white to her blue. Her eyes linger on him, but he doesn't look at her. I can't help you, she knows he is saying. I won't lie and say I will help you. She cherishes him even more for that.)

 

"Your brother destroyed an entire regime," Commander Lancel says from behind her and the swift feeling of pride is overtaken by the fear Joffery presents. 

 

"That is no fault of mine," Sansa says and regrets immediately. She was too proud, too defiant. She sees the Hound's scarred lips twitch (in anger, or perhaps fear) and she knows she's in trouble. 

 

"You are to be my wife," Joffery says, hissing out the words in his anger, "and so I will not harm your face." He grins cruelly here and gestures to two men. "Burn her clothes and teach her a lesson."

 

The men step forward from besides Joffery and Sansa pales, leaning forward. "No! Please, my lord, forgive me! Just--please--!"

 

It's too late. One of the men has his hands ignited and they grab roughly at her blue shift. Sansa shrieks and jumps away from the fire, backpacking. 

 

"Enough," the Hound says, loudly, but Joffery waves him off. Sansa can hear the desperation in his tone. He doesn't want this. 

 

"You can't do anything right," Joffery shouts as Sansa avoids another blast. He stands up from his throne and shifts his stance. Sansa turns too late. 

 

There is a moment where she hears someone scream 'no!' and she's not sure if it's Cersei, or someone in the crowd, or even the Hound. Sansa simply moves on instinct; she reaches forwards and waves. 

 

The fire is gone. There is silence. 

 

It's not until Joffery screams again, and streams a torrent of fire towards her (it's deadly this time) that she realizes what's happening. It's a simple throwing up of her arms and she's deflected the fire to the roof. 

 

Sansa has firebent. Sansa has a ripped shift, a singed shoulder, and she has just firebent. 

 

"Well, well, well," Tyrion says as he steps through the crowd. "It seems the Avatar has finally returned."

 

There is an explosion. Whether it is figurative, or Joffery has just ruined the entire tapestry collection on the walls. Sansa is only dimly aware of the Hound ripping his white cloak and covering her with it. 

 

She leaves without being dismissed, the entire room in chaos behind her. She waits till she's alone, wrapped in a cloak that isn't hers, till she let's the tears fall. 

 

\---

 

Sansa watches as Cersei leaves, tripping over her robe as the room pushes itself in to panic. Outside, Stannis and his collection of Fire Nation colonies battle the legion of firebenders. 

 

You're the Avatar, she can almost hear the Hound say. Do what you were born to do, little bird. 

 

Sansa sweeps her arms, trying to rememeber the motions and hoping for the best, as the candles and lamps suddenly glow fiercely bright.  The noblewoman still and all turn towards her. 

 

"You are scared and frightened, and it is understandable. But you are the Fire Nation, and you must not let yourself be extinguished! Over a hundred years ago your ancestors conquered all four realms! Outside these doors, your lords and men fight for you, to keep you safe! You must remain calm."

 

"And if they fail?!" a younger woman shouts at her and Sansa feels something deep inside her bubble. 

 

"Then I am the Avatar, and  _I_  will keep you safe. Go to sleep. When you wake, the fighting will be over."

 

Sansa turns on her heels and walks directly to her room. There is quiet from the hall, so she figures they must have listened. It isn't a long way to her room, and when she arrives, she pushes open the door and moves directly towards the window, swinging the shutter from the latch. The Capital is ablaze in a shade of dirty orange and black soot, and Sansa stares, memorized, and wonders how everything has come to this.

 

There is a shifting from her bed and she spins on her heels, searching for a weapon, water, earth, anything, when she realizes it's the Hound in front of her, slowly making his way off the bed. Sansa can smell wine on him, but there's also blood and ash. On the temple of his head is a jagged cut, and she realizes his hands are singed and covered in blisters. 

 

"You're hurt," Sansa says, stupidly, and something thrums in her. 

 

The Hound laughs, harshly. Sansa shudders. "I am. Damn Imp."

 

This, Sansa realizes, this she knows how to do. It only takes a second for her to heave the basin of water from her bedside (the only water Cersei lets her have) and drag it over, sit on the bed, and try to remember what the Master Healers taught her. The Hound freezes when Sansa grabs his hand, and tries to pull away, but stops when she urges him to hold it over the basin. She murmurs to him, random nothingness that she knows he must hate, and finds herself saying things like 'stay still, don't worry, it'll be alright.'

 

Sansa draws the water out of the basin, and it no longer shakes, but wraps around his hand as she molds it and urges the blisters to scab over, and new skin to grow. It shined blue-white, and illuminates them in the shadows. She can see the fear in his eyes, from her bending, from the fire licking at the gates. 

 

"I'm going," he says, suddenly, and Sansa is so startled that the water falters and she nearly drops it. He won't stop looking at her hands, holding his. "Tonight. The ships have a days passage to the Earth Kingdom. Then I'll head north, maybe. To your home."

 

"No-one can get out," she says, quietly, feeling her heart skip several beats, and watches as the skin of his hand heals. "They'll kill you," Sansa says as she picks up his next hand. This one is worse. "How did you even get these?" she says, and realizes she's said it out loud. 

 

"The Imp," he says, and laughs. "Little bastard heated my sword."

 

She glances down and sees that the hilt is twisted unnaturally, where it bent under the pressure of his hand. She wonders if it can still slice through bone now.  (Don't worry, little bird. I'll save you.)

 

"They won't question me, once they see my cloak," the Hound says, and it takes a moment for Sansa to realize that he's answered question, and even though his hand is healed, she's still holding it.  She drops it and spirals the water into her hands and reaches up to heal the cut on his temple. This one is different than the burns. She has to focus on knitting the skin back together instead of growing it over. It's harder to work with dead skin than new. 

 

"Why did you come here?" she asks and is afraid to know the answer. "Why did you not just leave straight away?"

 

He's quiet, and the only light is from the opened window, a queer green-tinged red, and the white from her hands. 

 

"You once asked me why I would vow to protect the very thing that hurt me," he says, and Sansa pauses, remembering the festival, and her father, and the way the Hound had pinned her in the hallway. (He stood there and just because he was born with the gift of fire, he took half my face.  _No, he was no true knight._ ) "I'm loyal. I could be loyal. I'd protect you. I would never hurt you, I would keep you safe. I'd kill anybody who tried to harm you."

 

Sansa looks at him, and the water stops its illumination, and while the wet drips down her arms, he looks at her. 

 

He's frightening her, she realizes. All this time, she's been so scared; of what she was, of what could happen, of her responsibilities and duties, of everything. She's healed him and he's frightening her. All she can do is stare at him and study him in the darkness. Here, in the dim light of her room, he doesn't look so fearsome. He just looks like her father, like Jory, like every man that has giving their life to protect her. He leans down (to kiss her she thinks, he's going to kiss her whether she wants it or not) and she closes her eyes and angles her chin up like Jeyne showed her all those months ago. 

 

"You can't even look at me," he murmurs, but it is sharp and twisted and terrifying. "You won't come."

 

"I can't," Sansa says, and her voice breaks. "I have to stay. I have to bring peace." Her hand is still on his face and she lifts up her other hand to cradle his burned cheek. It's the first time she's ever touched it. It's caked in blood and hard with ash. "I have to do what you said, and do what I was born to do." He's silent and she runs her thumbs over his cheeks, his jaw. "I'm sorry that this happened to you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

 

Something wet slips over her fingertips and at first she thinks it's blood, but it shines clear, and the Hound is crying. 

 

"Little bird..." he trails off, and even in the darkness she can see his eyes running over her face, her body, and it stops at the symbol patched on her shoulder that denounces her as the Avatar. His newly healed hands lift to wrap around hers, pressing her hands closer to his face, before inhaling harshly and ripping them off. 

 

Sansa startles from the movement, and trying to adjust to the sudden jolt, as she realizes that he's standing and striding to the door. She tentatively stands and watches as his hand linger at the latch, before he rips the white cloak from his shoulders and drops it on the ground. 

 

The door slams behind him and Sansa is standing there, trembling. She moves with jerky motions, taking a step forward, a step back, before shivering and moving towards the white cloak and picking it up. It's stained red and black, and it's ripped, but she doesn't care as she swings it around her and buries herself in it. It smells like ash.

 

( _Gentle Mother, font of mercy._ )

 

He's gone, she realizes simply. He's left. 

 

Sansa looks up towards the window and her eyes pulse white. 

 

( _Save our sons from war, we pray._ )

 

\---

 

He's seconds away from dying, Tyrion realizes. This is it. The capital will burn and he will die. (They will be forced to mourn him, he think giddily, feverish. He may be an Imp, but he is a firebender, and a Hand, and he can be damned if he's lying when he said he's led the men to war and fought just as good as any man. Cersei will tear her hair out.)

 

The boats are burning and he realizes that the oil has been thrown in the river. They probably thought it would help retard the fire that is now spiraling out of control. Idiots. Now the river,  _and_ Blackwater is on fire and if Tyrion doesn't die of blood loss, he'll burn to death. He's sure the Hound is laughing. ( _Oh, Shae, my nomad, at least mourn me._ )

 

The boats rock together as Stannis' men flee, knocking a carton of hay into the fire. Tyrion groans. (Renly's men stand at the very edge of the Capital, and Loras debates whether to press on. Stannis is the last of Renly. Stannis killed Renly.)

 

Then, he pauses. As Stannis' men flee. 

 

He forces himself to sit up, to look over the railing, and for once, Tyrion doesn't know what to think. The water from the river is being drawn upstream into a cyclone, which is then sending torrents of water to the burning buildings. When that doesn't work, the figure above the cyclone seems to glow brighter, abandoning the torrents and sweeping its hands in large, sweeping movements. It takes a second for Tyrion to realize the fires are being extinguished one by one. (The Hound mounts his horse and only takes one look back at the girl atop the pillar of water, his hands flex, and then he moves on.)

 

(Loras sees the Avatar and presses forward.)

 

It's the Avatar, Tyrion realizes. It's the Lady Sansa, saving the very people who hurt her. She extinguishes the fire and then goes after Stannis' men, bending the earth and air to fly them over the wall and out of the Capital and to the sea.  

 

She goes after Fire Nation men too, Tyrion realizes. The Avatar bends rock into walls and in less that a few minutes has stop the fighting. Stannis is in full retreat. 

 

He watches as the white fades back into blue and by stroke of luck or misfortune, the fading cyclone deposits her a few feet from Tyrion, on her knees. She looks at him, torn white cloak around her shoulder that Tyrion knows is the Hound's, as she glances at his wound, his face. The pleading look is obvious on his face; he looks at her and silently begs her to heal him, to save him. She looks down at him, eyes and mouth shining eerily white, and for once, Tyrion realizes that the look of disgust isn't because he's a dwarf.

 

"He; I would have healed," and her voice rings with a million others. "But not you."

 

The Avatar sways and Sansa faints. Tyrion lies there and dies.

**Author's Note:**

> This is awful. I'm so sorry. EDIT: Thank you for the comments about the double paste! I would have never even known. D: I've fixed it, hopefully.


End file.
